Stop pretending: The long version
by AirborneGirl
Summary: How exactly did their marriage come to be? And how will they get through that month?
1. Chapter 1

**Stop pretending: The long version**

**A/N**: all the wonderful reviews for my story "Stop Pretending"(Thanks for that, by the way!), made me think. Maybe there is more to the story than meets the eye. So here it is: Stop Pretending, the long version, a multi-chapter story about what happened during their marriage...and what might happen after...

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Chapter 1: Darling Teresa…will you marry me?**

The drive over to CBI headquarters, coming from their latest crime scene, was mostly silent. Not that they were exuberant or chatty after any new murder case, but the weight of this third deja-vu scenario pulled them down even more so than usual.

The media had been hot on their tails, all wanting the latest scoop on what was already called "The Newlywed Murders". All asking the same question, with that sickening mixture of concern and excitement on their faces: Was this the work of a serial killer?

Honestly, Teresa Lisbon thought, it was a stupid question. If it looked like a serial killer, smelled like a serial killer, than guess what? It might just really be…exactly. Even Jane figured it was too soon for a copy cat to turn up.

Other than that, they had practically nothing to work with. The commonalities were obvious enough: all three couples had been married for precisely one month to the day. The brides were found naked on the bed, raped and strangled. Their husbands were all sitting on a chair right next to the bed, bound, gagged and also strangled. Patrick figured that they had been forced to watch their wives being violated and killed before they too were put out of their misery.

That was all they knew though. Other than being married and the gruesome way in which they were murdered, the couples didn't seem to have anything in common. No shared social lives, no similar jobs or life styles, they didn't live in the same (kind of) neighborhood, no racial issues seemed to be a point. So how the killer had come across their addresses, or the fact they had gotten married…this last couple hadn't registered for any gifts anywhere and had obviously not had enough money to spend on an expensive advertisement in any of the socialite pages of the papers.

Whoever the killer was, he sure was meticulous. None of the murder scenes had involved pools of blood and he had been sure to wear both gloves and a condom and to clean the room before he left. Oddly enough, the women had all been covered head to toe by the bed sheets, as if he showed at least some respect for the dead. The dead wives, that is. But sadly, so far, the Crime Scene Unit hadn't found so much as a hair from their killer.

Next to her in the passenger's seat, Jane rubbed his tired eyes. She could tell that the thought of another serial killer ruining perfectly happy lives had gotten to him. They hadn't found his own nemesis yet and here he had to focus on yet another ruthless excuse for a human being. She knew he felt useless (as did they all at this point) and she also knew him well enough to know how much that uselessness bothered him. Without the ability to annoy witnesses or suspects alike, Jane's input was limited and it bugged him visibly.

He looked tired too. Of course, he always looked tired, but these days, the lines around his eyes seemed somehow deeper. She wished he would be able to sleep better.

Wait…when did she start caring about Jane's sleeping habits? Or lack thereof?

Oh, heck. It wasn't wrong of her to care about her coworkers. And she was exhausted enough to reason it didn't even matter if she cared more for one than the other. Or others.

Concentrating on the road, she pulled into the CBI parking lot. Silently, they entered the building and took the elevator to their floor, where Van Pelt offered to make them all coffee and a mug of tea for their consultant.

When they were all settled around Jane's couch, which had somehow become the centre piece of furniture, he finally spoke.

"We should lure him out. Get him to try and come after us."

Rigsby choked on his coffee. Lisbon looked up sharply from the folder she was holding and Van Pelt set her mug down quickly, before she could spill the hot contents. Only Cho remained his passive self. On the outside.

It was Van Pelt who broke the silence.

"Like…staging a marriage?"

As an answer, Jane just nodded gravely.

"Something like that. But no staging. The marriage has to be real. We already figured out that the last couple he killed had a very low-key wedding. No announcement in any paper, just a couple of friends and family. So for the killer to have found out about the marriage, he would have to have seen some certificates. Just an advertisement in the local paper won't attract him."

Lisbon gasped. The idea was so ludicrous, yet, it might just be the only thing that could work. She looked around her as her brain frantically worked out the options. The bureau had its share of undercover agents who were experts at their job in any given scenario, but would they want to actually leave a legal, binding paper trail? Whoever were picked, they were to become legally husband and wife. They would have to move in together, share a life, play happy couple and make it seem real. Besides, the less people who knew it would be a hoax, the safer it would be for the ones involved.

Ugh, she couldn't believe she was actually considering going along with it.

Her eyes met those of Grace Van Pelt. The younger agent swallowed and glanced from Jane to a very nervous looking Wayne Rigsby. He nodded and grabbed her hand.

"Van Pelt and I can do it."

"No."

Both she and Jane reacted at the same time with the same single word. Very briefly, she wondered what his motives were, but decided not to be bothered with it right now. Her own reason was convincing enough to her.

She could not, would not, let her two youngest team members take such a risk. Sure, it would be no problem for them to play a happily married couple as all of them knew they were in love, but just because of that, they deserved to go through the motions in their own time. As far as she knew, they still played by office rules and hadn't even had a real date yet, not that she would mind though. As long as they functioned normally in their job...unlike their terror on legs, Patrick Jane.

Shaking that train of thought (always hazardous to her health), she declined their offer. And made a heavy-hearted decision at the same time.

"Grace, Wayne, thanks for the offer, but I'm the senior agent and if we're gonna do this, I won't be risking your lives. It'll have to be me."

Jane smirked for some reason. She ignored it.

Lisbon turned to Cho, who hadn't said a word all morning. "Cho…you can be my husband."

Okay, so she knew it would be ridiculous. However compatible she and Kimball Cho had always been on the job, there was a professional barrier between them that could not be removed. He had a magnificent poker face, but he couldn't act worth a dime.

And Lisbon doubted she could act well enough herself. Could she call Cho 'honey' or 'darling' without choking? Heck, in all the years she had known him and worked with him, she had never even once called him by his given name!

But the alternative...the only one left...no, impossible. She would not, could not, allow her mind to stray that way. Like concluded before, it would be hazardous to her health.

Jane snorted loudly, making all of them again focus on him. Of course, he too would have a thing or two to say about the unlikely union.

"Something wrong, Jane? It was your idea after all."

"Be reasonable, Lisbon! You and Cho? Nobody will fall for that! Cho couldn't act a happy hubby at gunpoint! No offence, Cho, but the two of you as a couple? Preposterous!"

Before she opened her mouth to react, she regretted it. She was giving ample ammunition to the only one bold and stupid enough to use it.

Oh well. Too late now.

"Okay, wise guy! Who should pose as the happy couple, if not Cho and I?"

Grinning widely and rather predatory, Jane got up from his couch and knelt down in front of the stunned Teresa Lisbon.

"Darling Teresa…will you marry me?"

_Reviews are welcome!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Ulterior Motives**

Patrick Jane was a firm believer in hidden agenda's. No person (at least, no person he'd ever met and/or read) did not have hidden motives for pretty much everything they were doing, whether they were aware of it or not. It neither surprised nor bothered him. It made good people less two-dimensional. Of course, it made bad people even worse, but he had learned (the hard way) you had to take a little bad with the good. And, of course, if your job was reading people, it made the job a lot more interesting if there was actually something to read.

He himself was naturally no exception to this rule. He might just be a bit better at hiding it, most of the times, but he too knew what made him do the things he did. Like proposing to Teresa Lisbon.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with his lady-boss. At first, he had suppressed the emotions as they made him feel uneasy. Unfocussed. Guilty even.

For the past five years, he had lived and breathed for revenge. Nothing and nobody mattered in his attempt to fulfill his self-appointed destiny of finding and killing the man who was responsible for the gaping hole in his life, his loss of a future. People he met were either obstacles to be passed by (not to harm, never to harm, he wasn't that kind of person) or means to an end. So far Teresa Lisbon had belonged to the second category.

Until she shifted into a third possible section, one he had recklessly disregarded: the loved ones. It had happened beyond his control and he had no idea how, why or when he had lost it. It had simply happened.

Irrevocably.

It had turned his world around. His five year plan, the one he'd been so sure of, was tearing at the seams. All of a sudden, he had to take other feelings into consideration, things he would hate to leave behind.

At night, lying on his bare mattress in his empty house, or on the couch at the CBI building, his mind's eye was no longer obstructed by the horrifying smiley face drawn with his wife's blood. Instead, the daydreams that were spinning around in his head featured a petite, feisty brunette. In his life, in his bed, with a little girl with her dark hair and his own blue eyes or a blond boy with his dad's smile and his mother's green orbs.

Of course, everybody in their right mind would prefer dreams of the latter kind, but to Jane, they were nightmares all the same. Luring him with what he probably couldn't have and at the same time clawing away his resolve.

What would make him a worse husband and father: killing the one responsible for his misery or disregarding it and move on? In what way would he honor his wife and daughter best? Would another shot at love betray their memory? Or would a shot directed at Red John do that trick?

It frightened him, this indecision. Or, more likely, the fact the decision had already been made. By his heart. The same heart he had proclaimed dead at the sight of the letter taped to the bedroom door.

Being a man of action, too restless to stay in one place for too long, he had at one point made peace with the direction his heart had sent him in. So it wanted Teresa Lisbon? Very well, it would have her.

The very next morning he had bought a can of paint and made contact with a real estate agent. The smiley face had disappeared and he put the house up for sale.

A call to an old friend enabled him to rent a sweet cottage on the beach. It was significantly smaller than the mansion he had owned with his family, but he never needed that much space anyway. And the view was spectacular.

Overall, it was a nice place to start a new life. With Teresa. In whatever way she would allow him to.

His wedding ring moved from his finger to a long chain around his neck.

And he waited. For an opportunity, an opening, a hint, a sign that it was the right time for him to approach her as something more than just his lady-boss.

This staged marriage had offered itself as the perfect plan. Not just to con the killer, or actually, not to con him at all, but to give Teresa a glimpse of what a life with him would be like.

It was risky. They could get killed, like the other three couples. They could get bypassed as potential victims and let yet another innocent couple take the next blow.

They could get their hearts broken. His wild imagination did not necessarily have to become the truth. After all, there were two people in a marriage and in this case, both of them were entering it with a different motive. And while he knew hers, she was, for now, oblivious of his.

Getting married and then wooing your wife was of course the wrong order of things, but that was his plan anyway. At least sharing a house as small as this one (there was no way Lisbon would allow him to move into her apartment, which was even smaller) meant she had nowhere to run while he charmed her. He was already confident in the knowledge that she wasn't as immune to his smile as she wanted him to believe she was, hence the fact she forgave him most of his less eh...appreciated actions, but he had never gone full-stop with her.

Boy, he was starting to look forward to it now. Who would have thought?

It took some time to convince Minelli that this was the only way they could think of to get a serial killer off the streets, but in the end, their big boss gave his reluctant permission. He insisted on calling a judge himself, a woman he'd befriended and who would not make too much fuss about drawing up some paperwork. He did however remind them that the papers were official and so would be their marriage. It would, of course, be annulled as soon as the killer was caught, but until then...

Jane hardly listened. Right after the appointment (a.k.a. their wedding date) was set for Friday two weeks from that day, he told Lisbon he needed to run an errand downtown. She shrugged and asked for a ride since she too needed some things. He dropped her off at the parking lot and after reassuring him she would take a cab home, they each went their own way.

He caught a glimpse of her going into a nice little boutique and smiled. Of course she wouldn't go as far as buying a wedding gown, but the thought she at least wanted to look nice for the little formality that was to be their wedding, brought a smile to his face.

And maybe his surprise would bring a smile to hers as well.

Half an hour later and with a wallet considerably lighter he left the jewelry store. In his pocket, two small boxes could be found. He had considered just wearing his usual wedding band, but had decided against it. That band, along with the promise it represented, belonged to another wife. His vows to Teresa should come with a new ring. For both of them. Maybe he was over thinking the matter, but despite of the reasons or the circumstances, he vowed, if only to himself, to take this upcoming marriage as seriously as his first one. Perhaps even more so.

Because if he did, then maybe, just maybe, Teresa would come to grow accustomed and even fond of seeing their matching rings around their fingers. And she might not want to pull them off.

She would give up rent for her apartment and move in indefinitely. He might surprise her with a late honeymoon. Paris, Venice, Hawaii, whatever struck her fancy. He would fall asleep and wake up with her wrapped up in his arms. Every day.

And maybe, that little girl (her hair, his eyes) and that little boy (his smile, her eyes) playing such an important part in his dreams would grow up to be beautiful adults and hear their parents telling the unlikely story of how their union came to be to the eager ears of their own children.

At his and Teresa's golden anniversary.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: I now pronounce you...**

Teresa looked in the full-length mirror in the bedroom of her almost empty apartment and assessed her look. The dress was a very pale green, with a tight, strapless body and a long, flowing skirt. Thanks to her appointment with the hairdresser, her hair shone prettily and was pulled away from her face with a couple of pins, in which she had stuck some fresh white flowers. She had bought a new pair of strapped heels, on which she stood rather uncomfortably. Her mother's diamond studs and necklace would complete her outfit.

She had told the lady at the boutique she needed a dress to attend a wedding, which was technically true. However, she had omitted to inform the kind lady that she herself was the bride to be. She didn't want to have to explain why she had not walked straight into a bridal shop.

Maybe now it was a good thing she had grown up with only male family members. Growing up, she had cared little for Barbie dolls and never had many girlfriends to play dress-up with. Therefore, she had no fantasy wedding in mind, with white horse-drawn carriages and dozens of flowers. With her in a white gown with a veil which stretched on for miles. Those images were for princesses and she was definitely not raised to be anybody's princess. Instead, she told herself she was okay with the formality which was now only an hour away.

Patrick would come pick her up in half an hour. They would go straight to city hall, say their I do's, sign the documents and that would be it. In the last two weeks, she had gradually moved most of her stuff to the beach house he had rented. If she were honest, she would have to admit she liked the mix of their stuff and the home it had become.

But then again, if she were honest...

Patrick Jane would be her prince charming. From the very moment their scam wedding had been agreed upon, she'd had trouble controlling the stray butterflies in her stomach. It was the main reason she had indulged in a new dress, even though it hardly screamed 'happy bride'. But she had to have something, right? Just a shard of the dream? A glimpse of a fairytale?

It would be hard, so very hard to live under the same roof with the man she had fallen so completely in love with and pretend she was just pretending. Not that he wouldn't find out anyway (if he didn't already know), but she thought she knew him well enough to trust he would not hurt her by revealing he knew she loved him.

Heck, and that was only if they didn't get strangled in the middle of the night...

She was strong. She would survive and if she did this right, their fragile friendship would survive. Dented, cracked, but still there. It would mend over time. They would get over the awkwardness eventually, right? After all, it was only for a month, right? And as soon as the annulment papers were signed, they could both forget about it and move on...right?

Right. Like she could ever forget.

She had just finished her make-up when her doorbell rang. Heart throbbing like mad, she opened the door. The sight of her groom made her swallow. He was wearing a light grey three piece suit (nothing out of the ordinary) with a crisp white shirt and a light blue tie. But that was not what caused her throat to clog up.

He had one single white rose in his lapel and in his hand, he held a small bunch of white roses and baby's breath.

Patrick Jane had bought her a wedding bouquet.

She took it with a soft smile. Their fingers brushed and she blushed, forcing the critters in her abdomen into submission.

"It's pretty. Thank you."

"You're welcome." A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked at her.

"You look beautiful."

Again, she thanked him. He took her hand in his own and led her outside. There, she burst out in a fit of giggles, both from the escalation of nerves and the sight of his beloved old Citroen.

Which now sported a trail of rattling cans as well as the obligatory "Just Married" cardboard sign in the back window.

He led her into the passenger's seat, grinning, apparently satisfied she had shown some sense of humor.

The ride to the Sacramento city hall was uneventful. Both of them remained silent, anticipation building. Was it hot or was that just her?

Like the gentleman she had always known he was, he helped her out of the car and held her hand until they reached the room they would enter as colleagues and friends and exit as Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Jane.

Could she still run?

At the same point, Patrick squeezed her hand, before bringing it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

"Relax, darling Teresa. This is a wedding, not a public execution."

Huh, she wondered what the difference was.

The room, once they had entered it, was not as intimidating as she had feared it to be. Maybe that was because Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho were already there. Who invited them? A quick glance at her groom told her enough and she felt, again, utterly grateful for his consideration.

That, or he had counted upon her being a flight-risk.

The judge welcomed them warmly, read the mandatory lines and made them repeat the vows. She hadn't counted on any rings, but to her surprise, Patrick nodded to Rigsby, who produced two equal simple narrow golden bands from his vest pocket, the smallest of which he gave to the groom. Patrick gently shoved it around her finger. Of course it fitted perfectly and even had the audacity to look like it belonged there, had been there forever.

Brain activity nullified for the moment, she took the slightly bigger ring from Rigsby and put it around Patrick's finger. Briefly, she wondered where his other ring was, but the thought that his first marriage had been one out of love hurt her too much to bear and so she forced herself to remove the thought altogether.

A shared last name did not make her Patrick's wife and neither did that piece of paper which they were about to sign. She had yet to learn how to compete with a ghost.

"By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

She had both dreaded and anticipated this part. But again, Patrick took control. Tenderly, he cupped her face in his right hand and drew her closer. His lips brushed hers, like an unspoken question. As an answer, she opened hers ever so little.

A little kiss wouldn't harm her, would it?

No...it would only brand her his. For life.

It wasn't sensual. Not aggressive, nor possessive. But it was infinitely intimate. As much a promise as the clearly outspoken vows.

The tears she's been fighting to control now flowed freely and at the salty taste, he slightly pulled back to be able to brush away the paths they left on her cheeks. His thumb felt sweet and he gave her a beautiful smile, before pulling her against his chest, effectively hiding her face from the judge as well as their coworkers.

"We'll make it, darling Teresa. Trust me, please."

She nodded, deciding to trust him for now. Since she didn't trust herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you x 1000 for all the wonderful reviews! I don't have as much time as I like to update, but I'm trying. Here's another chapter for you to enjoy. Let me know if you did!

**Chapter 4: Honeymooners**

And so their marriage started. As their coworkers left the building to go back to the CBI building, Jane took his bride out to dinner.

The Italian restaurant was small and cozy and he was glad to see she relaxed ever so little, even if only after half a bottle of their excellent Chianti.

Her nervous behavior hurt him. He remembered their conversation about trust and swallowed convulsively when he too remembered her telling him she didn't trust him. And said trust would not come with even a gallon of wine.

Technically speaking, he could insist on them consummating their marriage, or at least sharing the same bed, the same room. He could come up with dozens of reasons why it would make their vows a lot more credible. But even he himself did not believe the potential killer would know or care either way.

He just wanted to have her close. The kiss he had given her just now had awoken strong feelings of love, if not lust, inside of him. All of a sudden, his body was oddly reminded of the fact that he hadn't slept with a woman since his wife had died. When all of his attention was still focused on finding and killing red John, his physical needs simply didn't play a part in his life any more.

It appeared that that wasn't about to change though.

He could live with that. But what he couldn't live with was the fact that Teresa Lisbon-Jane was sitting across from him looking petrified of what their wedding night might bring.

Did she really deem him capable of forcing himself on her?

Or did she secretly wish he would make a move, because she was too afraid to take the step?

Or worst of all: he'd been mistaken all along and she really didn't harbor any romantic feelings for him. She might actually really think he was nothing other than a pain in the ass consultant, only amusing at best.

Damn it. Where was his so-called sixth sense when he really needed it?

The drive from the restaurant to their new home was mostly silent, with Teresa pretending to be asleep and both of them knowing he wasn't buying it for a minute. Yet, he let her, for once not capable of salvaging the situation with one of his mind games.

He had to do something, though. Something that would show her he was her friend. A lot more if she wanted him to be, but a friend first and foremost.

When she didn't get out of the car immediately, an idea popped up in his mind. It might backfire, but a lot of his plans had in the past and he was still there, so he would just take his chances. Any reaction was better than the cathartic approach she had obviously chosen.

He quickly slammed the door of the driver's seat's side shut and sprinted to the other side. Before Lisbon could react, he had picked her up.

"Patrick! What are you doing?"

Her high-pitched yell showed her obvious confusion. But at least she was shaken out of her stupor.

"Following tradition, my darling," was all the answer she got from him.

She was petite and luckily didn't weigh all that much. So he managed to carry her up the front porch steps with only a minimum of panting. Come on, give him a break. Did he look like the kind of guy to go to a gym? Do you know how much it takes to get sweat stains out of suit vests?

"Keys are in my left vest pocket," he told her, as he was not about to put her down yet.

For once obedient, she fished the keys out of said pocket and with a nod from him, she opened the door. With a dazzling smile, he carried her over the threshold, where he gently put her on her feet.

"Welcome home, darling."

She didn't answer his term of endearment, and he hadn't expected her to, but he was surprised when she smiled at him in return.

"Same to you, Patrick…welcome home."

Silence fell again as she walked away from him, to the kitchen. He found her rummaging through the cabinets and producing two mugs and a pack of coffee. Her hands were still a bit shaky.

Acting on instinct, since his first attempt to cheer her up had actually worked out pretty well, he approached her from behind, wrapped two strong arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. She gasped, but did not struggle to pull away. A good sign, or so he hoped. For once not thinking before choosing his words, he allowed his heart to speak.

"I know you're nervous about this marriage thing we've gotten ourselves into. And I know you're still not sure if you should trust me. It hurts my ego a little, but I understand. I just want you to know that I'll…Teresa, would you look at me please?"

She turned around in his arms to face him, green eyes attentive, gazing into his. He continued his little monologue.

"I'll do anything I can, anything you want me to, to make this whole next month easier on you. On the both of us. This place is our home for the next couple of weeks and I want you to feel safe and relaxed while you're here. But I can't do that without your help. I can't make this life, this period, this whole married life work if you keep looking at me like you expect me to do you more harm than the killer we're supposed to catch."

She swallowed heavily, not contradicting him, but obviously feeling alarmingly guilty at again, being read so easily. And seeing him being hurt by it.

A small hand came up and caressed his cheek with a gentility he had not expected. But a welcome gesture it was nonetheless and he allowed himself to lean into her touch. Just for a moment, savoring the contact as well as the not unpleasant jolt it sent through his stomach…or slightly south of it…

"I know you will," her raspy voice answered, indicating she was close to tears. She swallowed bravely and plunged on.

"I'm sorry for making this hard on you, but you know what it's like to share a life, a home with someone. I…I had to be the grown-up before I knew how to be and after that, I was just happy to be on my own, not to rely on or be responsible for anybody else than my own. Call it control-issues if you want to, but I just don't know how to…"

"Be married?" He added. She nodded stupidly.

"Neither do I, Teresa. I didn't know the first time and I don't know now."

"But you managed…"

"No thanks to me, believe me. I had to learn. We both did. It's trial and error for every couple, I think. And now we'll have to learn for ourselves. You think we can do that?"

Her nod was still a tad hesitant, but he could also read the quiet determination in them and he thanked his lucky stars.

So it wasn't love yet. But it was a start. He could work from here.

But first, there was coffee waiting for them. And a warm bed. Come to think of beds…

"Teresa?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we gonna start?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Our wedding night, of course. The bedroom is comfortable, but so cliché. But then again…the bathroom might be too slippery and I'm not so sure the countertop would hold us…"

"Patrick…you're sleeping in the guestroom."

"Not very imaginative."

"Alone!"

He grinned. It was worth the try, if only to see that adorable blush…


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Ordinary couple.**

Teresa Lisbon had never been the kind of woman to put much value into mundane things as plastic surgery, always believing that aging gracefully was a better option than looking like a walking Barbie doll at age fifty. Hey, to each his own, but she would pass.

But Botox and boob-jobs set aside, if they would ever come up with a skin treatment which would forever cure any signs of blushing, other than powdering her face till she looked like Snow freakin' White (in California!), she would take it. No matter if it would cost her a whole year's worth of paychecks as well as her Christmas bonus.

Blushing, she decided, should be outlawed. Or at least, making someone blush should. In that case, she could finally put the culprit, who just happened to be her husband, in handcuffs.

Although, on second thought, he would find a way to make her turn crimson at that notion as well, no doubt.

And she wouldn't be able to testify against him either. Damn spousal privilege. And damn Patrick Jane…

It had been three weeks since Patrick had sealed the deal as well as her doom with one single kiss, the memory of which still sent her to cloud nr. 9. And beyond.

So far, it had been the only kiss they had shared, well, the only real kiss anyway. And when he had promised her on their wedding night that he would not do anything which would make her feel uncomfortable, she had told herself she was relieved.

The creepy crawlies zooming around in her stomach were to be sedated at all cost, so yes, she was happy he didn't seem to pursue a more physical relationship for real.

As if being goaded and teased about it wouldn't be enough. Especially with that smile. Another thing which should be made illegal. Any sane state senator would pass legislation on a law like that, wouldn't they? If they were female…or gay.

Yet, whenever he wasn't making any comments about their sleeping arrangements, she had to admit, he was settling into this husband role better than she did playing happy wife.

For instance…the flowers. He came home with the first bouquet (daffodils) a week after the wedding. To celebrate their one week anniversary, or so he said. Before he trotted into the kitchen to make her one of her favorite meals: his special lasagna.

She had actually felt guilty about closing the door to the master bedroom after wishing him goodnight. And she hadn't slept a wink as an added insult to injury.

The next week, they were tulips, in every color imaginable. To brighten up her day after a tough caseload.

And today…Tiger lilies. Bright and fragrant.

And then there was breakfast. Since he apparently still suffered from insomnia (was that contagious, by the way?), he was always up and about before she was. On weekdays, he presented her with a toasted fresh bagel and a cup of coffee brewed to perfection. At the weekends, he would be more exuberant, with a boiled egg, freshly squeezed juice and warm croissants he bought at the crack of dawn at the bakery down the street. They would eat it together on the bed in the master bedroom; the only time she would allow him to join her. Even she couldn't be so cruel as to deny him taking pleasure out of his own thoughtfully made breakfast.

Still, she wondered how much longer she could hold on. Even if he didn't mean to be anything more than attentive, it still didn't help her keep her butterflies under control.

Sometimes, make that most times, when she was lying in the way too big bed staring at the ceiling, she wondered…

Why again would it be such a bad idea if they were to become more than husband and wife on paper only? Why should she not give in to her attraction to him?

More than once, she found herself getting up to knock on his door, confident he would not be sleeping either, and that he would welcome her into his warm embrace without questioning her change of heart.

She had no doubt he would be a wonderful lover. Strong and skilled, but attentive and sweet as well…

Ugh…now she made herself blush.

When morning came though, gloom took over, maybe as a result of sleep-deprivation. When morning came, Lisbon remembered why they could not work.

It wasn't just because of her control issues, though they did count for some of the reasoning behind her conclusion.

It was the fear of him playing husband. The fear that he was just so into this because he desperately wanted to take back what was so rudely taken from him: he was playing happy family simply because he missed doing so. And she might be nothing more than a substitute for his wife.

Although even that might be better than being used as a means to avenge his first (his ONLY) family. She was not his family. They. Were. Not. A. Family. Period.

She knew she might not do him justice by thinking that way. They were friends and she didn't think him capable of consciously and deliberately using her, but that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it?

How much of what he was doing was deliberate? Did he know himself?

And which was worse, anyway?

At least it wouldn't last much longer. In one week, the time for the culprit to attack would come upon them and if they managed to catch him, it would all be over. They could stop this play, pull of their masks, draw the curtains and go home. After an Oscar-worthy performance.

How much would their friendship suffer? Would she miss him, all alone again in her own apartment? When she started this, she has assumed she would be overjoyed at the idea of finally being her on own again, but would she?

Or was she, in some way, more alone now? Sometimes, the wall between their bedrooms was awfully thick. Those were usually the same nights her hand was only half an inch away from his door and her heart only half an inch from her throat.

It was a miracle she could still get any work done. And that was without her acknowledging the curious and furtive glances being cast in her direction by Van Pelt and Rigsby (and Cho, probably, though he hid it better). Surely they were all thinking the bags underneath both their eyes originated from a totally different reason of sleep-deprivation.

Why hadn't she allowed Van Pelt and Rigsby to do this? Oh, right, she didn't want them to become a walking target, thinking that as a senior agent, that should be her risk to take.

Too bad she hadn't foreseen that not the murderer, but her own husband would become her worst problem.

Oh well, if worse came to worst, the killer would come too late. She was only one more night of silent craving away from ending it all herself.

One week. Seven days.

It would all be over soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N : **Sorry it took a little longer this time. Life got in the way. You all know about hat, right? But, anyway, here it is: another chapter. About three more coming up I think, before I call it quits. Enjoy!

**Chapter 6: Moment of truth**

And suddenly, the moment was upon them, so much sooner than either one of them had anticipated. If their killer was still abiding by his own calendar and had indeed picked them as his next target, than tonight would be the night.

He was nervous as hell. Who wouldn't be? Even Teresa, who normally wore her business-like suits as well as her gun and batch as some kind of modern-day protective coat of armor, looked fidgety from a distance and plainly frightened upon closer examination.

Her insistence that they were both going to be just fine didn't quite convince him. She had always been a very bad liar.

Every protective action the CBI team could come up with, was taken. Undercover surveillance cars were scattered all around their home and at least two block in each direction and over a dozen cops, disguised as joggers, pizza-delivery guys or whatever, walked the streets or strolled around the beach. Even a helicopter was flying around every now and then.

Several rooms in their home, including the master bedroom (the most likely place for the killer to attack them) were bugged, so every scream could be heard clearly.

Closest to the Jane-Lisbon residence were Rigsby and Van Pelt, who didn't want to be relieved from their duty until this maniac was caught. Cho was posing as delivery guy down the block, ready to get into action when needed.

Their team was not letting them down. And it was a good feeling.

It did not, however, make him feel better about the other pain in his heart. Call him an idiot, but the eminent arrival of a serial killer in his home was not the only thing that pained his conscience. The fact that he could get murdered before their coworkers could come to the rescue did not bother him half as much as the fact that, whichever way the night would end…so would his time with Lisbon.

Unlike his wife, Jane was a very skilled liar, capable of deceiving just about anybody around him. And indeed, he had even managed to deceive himself into thinking this dream life would somehow last forever. That it was all for real and that she would realize it too.

So far though, she hadn't and he had run out of time. To tell her he had fallen for her, that he wanted to superglue her ring onto her finger or pretty much do whatever the hell it would take for her to agree that they were a perfect match.

Hadn't he tried hard enough, this past month? Fresh flowers, breakfast in bed…he hadn't even gone through this much trouble for his first wife. But he hadn't needed to then. They had fallen in love without the need for him to chase her, woo her, challenge her, etcetera et infinitum.

So he had hoped she would have melted by now, enough at least for her to grow fond of the life they'd built together. And maybe a little fond of him too. Maybe even a lot.

But he had been spending his nights lying wide awake in their guest room. Alone. They would wish each other good night, he would kiss her on the cheek, the forehead or some other safe place and let go of her. His kisses lingered longer every time, but he'd made her a promise and he was gentleman enough to keep it.

Though, perhaps tonight, he might just break.

She beat him to it though. Half an hour after they'd wished each other good night, she was standing in his doorway, barefoot and dressed in shorts and a tank top.

She looked sexy for as long as it took him to see through her pose to notice how frightened she was. Suddenly, instead of sexy, she reminded him of his daughter after she'd woken up from a bad dream. She smiled at him.

"Wouldn't it be odd if we didn't sleep together?"

Of course he knew what she meant, but he couldn't help himself. He never could.

"I've been trying to convince you of that for weeks. I'm glad you finally seem to see things my way, darling."

He invitingly opened the covers. Until he saw she wasn't laughing. He got up from the bed and stroked her cheek softly, his blue eyes searching her green ones.

"Teresa…it's okay to be scared, you know."

With that, she succumbed. Tears streaming down her face, she hurled herself at him and he barely caught her without toppling over. Stroking her hair lovingly, he murmured nonsense words until she calmed down enough for them to have a normal conversation.

"Teresa…what can I do to get us through this?"

Her answer came with her signature blush, but without hesitation, as if she knew she needed to ask him out loud.

"I…I want you to stay with me tonight. In the master bedroom."

He only nodded and took her hand. She held on for dear life, like a child scared to lose sight of her parent. In the bedroom he had never slept in, he got underneath the blankets as she did the same. For just a moment, they remained perfectly still and silent, before Patrick whispered: "come here."

Willingly, she obeyed and allowed him to pull her small body next to his. With a sigh, she rested her head against his chest as he arranged the blankets around them.

"Try to rest a little, love. I'll be awake."

"But…" Two fingers against her lips stopped her from finishing her sentence.

"Hush. Rest. I promise you won't miss the action when it comes."

Again, silence settled between them, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. He neither blamed her nor let her know he was aware she was still awake, though a little drowsy.

"Patrick?" her voice was soft and hesitant in the dark.

"Yes?"

"I might not be able to say this too you later, so…eh…thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything you did these past weeks. I know it must have been hard on you, this pretend marriage, but you've been a wonderful husband and I want to thank you for that."

Every pore in his being wanted to cry out at her. It had not been hard! And if she thought he was a good husband now, why wouldn't she wait what kind of husband (lover, father…) he would be in the future? What about their future?

It did not have to end…stay with me, Teresa.

He gulped away the lump forming in his throat before he answered, as truthfully as he dared to be, with her as well as Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt and whoever else listening in.

"You don't have to thank me, Teresa. Everything I did for you, I did because I wanted to and because I think you deserve it. You deserve to be treated well by your husband."

Me. That's me. Forever. I don't care what the annulment papers say.

"I…lo…thanks anyway."

Damn. That was close.

In bed, Patrick swallowed away bitter tears of disappointment.

In the nearest surveillance car, Grace Van Pelt did the same.

_Well? Still with me? Let me know, please!_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** My sincere apologies for making all my loyal readers wait for almost a month for a new chapter, but lately, my health kind of abandoned me. For now, I'm still not out of the woods, but at least I know what's going to happen and that in itself gives me enough rest to concentrate on writing again.

I just hope you're still with me…so here we go…

**Disclaimer**: Wish I owned them, but sadly no…

**Chapter 7: Till Annulment do us part**

They must have dozed off, she thought, hours later, sitting at her desk at the CBI headquarters, because the attacker had already been in the master bedroom, soon to be followed by what she estimated was half the Sacramento precinct. She didn't remember much about him, only that he was young, Latino and managed to look devastated and haughty both at the same time. He hissed something in Spanish at them before Rigsby led him away.

All the time, she had not dared to look in Patrick's direction. She wasn't sure if she would like the look on his face when she did, especially when she heard his sigh of relief.

Was he relieved it was over? Of course, so was she, but…was this about their marriage being over or the killer being caught?

When he wrapped his arms around her and quietly asked her if she was okay, she got her answer. But again…was it the one she wanted?

Luckily for her, she had always been good at switching to agent-mode and so that was what she did. She pulled on a pair of black pants and a shirt and practically ordered her spouse to do the same.

And of course, of all the moments he could choose to obey her orders, he had to pick this one. He shrugged, got out of bed and picked up his suit pants and shirt.

Both of them studiously ignored the fact they'd been spending the first few hours of the night in each other's arms, as well as the curious glances cast in their direction by their team. Even Cho didn't seem to fully grasp his poker face.

So that was why she was now in her office, furiously typing away at her after action report, so Minelli could file it away and start questioning their suspect. Since both she and Patrick were too involved, both of them were excluded from these hearing sessions, to rule out any possibility for the defense lawyer to claim a mistrial.

She knew he was standing in her doorway before she heard the soft knock. Her vocal chords were still asleep, though, so she had no way of letting him know she wasn't in the mood to talk.

He came in and sat down on the chair on the other side of her desk. When she didn't acknowledge his presence, he started to speak, his voice soft and raspy from shock and lack of sleep.

"Teresa…this elephant in the room won't vanish just because you want it to."

She shrugged in an attempt to fool him into believing she had not been avoiding him for hours on end.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Since there were normally very few things that made Jane angry, Lisbon hadn't counted upon his hand slamming hard on her desk top, causing a vase with flowers (which he had given her) to topple over and shatter on the floor.

"Don't you dare insult my intelligence or your own by thinking I would fall for that!"

Stunned, she remained silent, tears of angry frustration gathering in her eyes as the fatigue and the impact of the night caught up with her.

Picking a fight with him was the last thing she wanted, but if she allowed herself to be comforted by him, to hear his gentle voice, like she had only a few hours ago, she knew that she would never be able to walk away from this…this…oh heck. The marriage. Might as well name the thing by its legal name.

With all her heart she wanted to believe that there would be no harm in them staying married, but as soon as she even thought it, she dismissed it. Yes, there would be harm. To the both of them.

He could never give up his quest for the ultimate revenge for what was taken from him.

And she could never fill in the blanks and be satisfied with merely being a substitute, even if Patrick didn't know that was all she was to him.

Good thing she hadn't slept with him.

Seemingly shocked by his own outburst, her soon to be ex-husband drew his hand away as if burned, then looked at her with an expression of confusion, anger and pain on his handsome features. It was almost enough to make him ugly.

"I…I'm sorry, darling Teresa. I shouldn't force you into bearing your soul to me. Just…don't leave me in the dark about your intentions. Be honest with me, at all times. I wanna be there for you, but it's up to you if you'll let me."

Lisbon nodded, to show she had heard and understood him.

"I'll be on my couch then, should you need me. Try not to take too long, the adrenaline rush is about to fade."

Quickly, as if about to lose his guts, he leaned over and placed a short, sweet kiss on her forehead, before he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Teresa dropped down on her chair, trembling, repeating one line over and over again like a mantra.

"Better just get it over with."

Deciding it was no use trying to catch sleep now, she unlocked her file drawer and got a stack of papers out. They had been filled out on her request, with only the date and their signatures missing. With a slightly trembling hand, she scribbled hers on one of the dotted lines.

Then left them there for a couple of hours, too nervous to actually take them to him.

The couple of hours became the next afternoon. Courage was hard to come by these days, even when you kept telling yourself it was all for the best. Really, it was.

At around four PM, she couldn't stand the furtive looks Jane sent her any longer. He hadn't bothered her all day, only asked her what she wanted for lunch. Nothing thanks. He had left with a nod, not asking any more questions.

Well, this is it. Cop up, Lisbon.

Taking the signed annulment papers in her hand, she got out of her office and found Jane where she expected him to be, stretched out on his couch. She kicked the side of the ragged piece of furniture to attract his attention, the way she always did. He lazily opened his eyes and smiled at her.

"Hey darling wife, what can I do for you?"

Ignoring the term of endearment as well as the jolt of pleasure it secretly gave her, she silently handed him the papers and a pen.

He took the papers, read them carefully, then shook his head.

"What do you want me to do, Teresa?"

Not understanding his hesitation, she shrugged.

"Eh…sign them? The killer was caught, Patrick. We can stop pretending."

At her last words, he looked up. And she immediately wished she could take them back. There was no mask on his face, no grin to hide emotions behind. What she saw was pure hurt. Heart wrenching hurt, which penetrated her veins until she felt cold as ice. Frozen in a moment she had never wanted to happen.

His hands were shaking as he nodded and reached for the pen, still hanging limply in her hand. She dropped it on the table, where he picked it up and scribbled his name on the dotted line.

Then, swallowing hard, he stood, leaving the document on the coffee table for her to pick up. He brushed past her without looking, but before he left the building he whispered to her.

"Just so you know, Lisbon (her last name came out raw; he hadn't used it in six weeks and she winced), I never pretended. Not once."

Then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Empty house**

AN: I know, I know, I promised you to be back soon and then came Christmas, then came the New Year's weekend en then…cleaning up. And I'm STILL not done with that, go figure.

But you've all been waiting for the continuance of this story, I decided to make it up to you be publishing the last two chapters in one go. Hope you still enjoy!!!

AND AS HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL!!!

Disclaimer: No Simon Baker in my stocking this Christmas. Might not be wise to hold my breath either. Oh well…

The driver of the gray SUV honked his horn and made quite the rude gesture as Patrick cut him off without even noticing. He was fuming with anger, numb with confusion and the unwanted tears of bitter disappointment obscured his vision. So if somehow he would end up in a freak accident, he probably couldn't have cared less.

It wasn't like he would leave any loved ones behind.

His knuckles were white on his steering wheel and his throat constricted painfully as he, again, pictured her studiously impassive face and recalled her words.

We can stop pretending.

Why? Why had he allowed himself to dream that the life they'd led for the last month could somehow become as significant, as real to her as it was to him? He thought he'd received the right signals from her, figured it was only a matter of time before she would succumb to the pull of their never outspoken feelings toward each other. Only, she hadn't. The night she had spent in his arms obviously meant nothing to her. She had probably forgotten all about it already.

He now wished he could say the same for himself.

It was over. All over. The dream, the marriage...reduced to two signatures underneath a legally binding document, stupidly, senselessly denying the meaning of their vows. And she, Lisbon (never again his Darling Teresa) was probably on her way to the courthouse to have it filed at that very same moment.

Case closed. Just as all others. Complete with their traditional post-case pizza. He'd been invited earlier that day to join them, but he had declined, unable to stomach even one bite. Lisbon had taken a slice though and he didn't know why that had bothered him so much. Oh well, the pizza would be all she was going to be eating tonight. He was never going to make her his traditional lasagna again. That had been a part of their married life...wait...their PRETENDED married life.

Of course he had told her, in clear words too, that he hadn't been pretending. And he hadn't been lying. Looking back, he figured he'd been a very good husband to her. Treating her with kindness and respect while trying to tell her without words how much living with her, being with her, mattered to him. It was a very bitter pill to swallow that it still hadn't been enough. That the woman he loved, the second woman he had promised forever to, still chose to walk out on him.

Sitting behind the wheel of your car while driving (too fast as was his habit) down a highway crowded with afternoon commuters, is not the most ideal moment to wallow in self pity. Jane cursed his lack of attention as he barely made it to his exit, earning another angry honking for his last minute action. Good thing Lisbon wasn't sitting next to him.

Sigh...Lisbon...his ex-wife Teresa Lisbon-Jane...sigh...and back to wallowing it was.

The route to their little idyllic beach house branded in his memory, Jane's hands steered the willing Citroen in the right direction on their own accord and he let his mind drift again. A ray of late afternoon sunshine hit his simple golden wedding band, sending sparks flying. Ruefully, he looked at the now obsolete piece of jewelry. He should probably take it off. Replace it with the one on his neck. His real ring. From his real marriage.

Damn it. Like it had been easy for him to take off his only visible connection to his old life. His once-upon-a-time fairytale, where he had been the king. But it had seemed worth it. At the time. The closing of one chapter of his existence in order to start writing a new one. Finally.

Twelve years ago, when a beautiful bride had first placed the symbol of their union on his finger, it had taken him weeks to get used to seeing it there. Happy weeks they had been, but still. Married life had taken its time to adjust to.

When over a decade later, Teresa repeated the very same action, it just fitted. Without explanation, without him even noticing it, he'd slipped back into husband mode. And that just didn't make sense.

How could it have happened? Was he more in love with Teresa than he had been with his pretty Kelly?

In a way, he had to admit, he was. Back then, he'd been young and carefree. They had both only seen beauty and cloudless skies in their lives so far. In retrospect, it hadn't been hard to climb to cloud 9 while having both feet on solid ground and enough people to watch over you. After accomplishing the very same height whilst starting from the deepest pits of hell, he couldn't help but revel in the feeling all the more.

Too bad he hadn't realized how deep the fall would be if he would lose her.

Sooner than he had anticipated and quite surprised he'd gotten there in one piece, he arrived home. Not bothering to park his car neatly, he got out and stepped into the place they'd decorated with so much care. He guessed she would want to move out as soon as possible. As for him, he had no other choice but to stay there, since his other home had been sold in order to buy this one. Question was: could he handle living here on his own? Another haunted, lonely place, the only difference the absence of a red smiley face on the wall, painted in blood.

Patrick Jane had never been a very patient man. That particular virtue collided heads-on with his endless curiosity. That same impatience, topped off with a truckload of residual anger, triggered him into his frantic action now.

He grabbed some empty boxes from the small built-in closet in the hallway, where they had stacked them only weeks before after unpacking their belongings, laughing and squabbling over photo's and knickknacks like any real couple would. There would be no laughing this time as he picked up all her treasures and carefully wrapped them in sheets of newspaper before putting them back in their boxes. Part of him wanted to smash things apart, but he could never in his life break something that would be of any value to her. Except perhaps a tiny bit of her heart.

Perhaps she was sad about it. Perhaps his judgment was clouded and his ability to read her mind hindered by his preoccupation with his own pain.

He shrugged away the thought. Fact remained, she had made him sign away his connection with her and so she would be moving back to her own apartment. Which meant he had some more packing to do.

After her collection of statues, pictures and the like, he started with her books, moving the full, taped and labeled boxes to the hallway, in plain view of anyone who would walk in.

Yes, he knew he was just a tad sadistic.

Taking book after book and dividing them in a 'hers' and 'mine' and a 'whose?' pile, he took out shelve after shelve, putting his back and stacking her in some more pre-marked boxes.

His back started to hurt and his stomach reminded him that half a sandwich for lunch wasn't enough nutrition for a grown man, but the work exhausted him and drained him and he welcomed the feeling.

He contemplated doing her clothes next, but that would be just a little too intimate. Which, in itself, was just so sad he couldn't bring himself to do that. Sorting out her undies was something she would have to do herself.

It was close to five PM when he heard her SUV pull up beside his Citroen. Patrick really didn't want to take a peek, but simply couldn't help himself.

All his resolve almost melted when he saw the look on her face. There were so many emotions displayed there, he could have read her for a year and still not be done. But at first (long, very long) glance, the expression seemed to be a mixture of pain, confusion, determination, hope and despair. Totally contradicting, but all there at the same time.

But then she took two folders from the passenger's seat. Legal folders. And he didn't want to know what was in them.

Had she really been so cruel as to bring the dreaded papers back home? To do what? Rub his nose in them? Ask for another signature just to be on the safe side?

Momentary relapse forgotten, he squared his shoulder and resumed his book-stacking. If she was going to hurt him, he was not going to take it as a man.

He loved her too much to let her go without a fight. A fight he intended to win.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Happily ever after…**

Either she had developed instant Parkinson's disease, or she should really have taken some Prozac, because she was trembling like a newborn Chihuahua.

Everything she had ever wanted lay in the balance of the two envelopes she held clutched in her hand. That and Patrick's willingness to listen to her. At least he was home and in her current state of mind she decided to regard that simple fact as a good sign.

After Patrick had left the CBI building, she had locked herself into her office, fiddling with the documents, waiting for the expected relief to wash over her. And realizing that it would never happen. The only thing she felt rushing over her like an ice-cold tidal wave was bitter disappointment.

Right now, she should have been at the courthouse, delivering the annulment to the judge to have it verified and filed away. Instead, when she had tripped over a certain object in her office, another idea had hit her in the face and instantly, she had known what to do. And what not to do.

What not to do was go to the courthouse. What not to do was to let two ink scribbles determine her marital status and therefore her future happiness. What not to do was never to let Patrick know that he was the one she wanted to spend forever with. Till death did them part. That document was signed and verified too. And without the physical proof of the annulment document…

One glorious minute later, that physical proof was…eh…tragically misplaced.

Oops.

Gathering the remnants of her almost lethal mistake, she hurried out of her office and sped through the Sacramento streets to get home as fast as possible. If any coworker would be stupid enough to book her for speeding, she'd make sure that said rookie would work nightshifts only until he retired.

So now she was standing before her home, fumbling with her keychain and trembling. The Chihuahua in her also caught a bout of Parkinson's disease.

For a moment Teresa feared he had changed the locks on the front door, but soon she found out she was trying to push a wrong key into the hole.

Damn nerves.

When she finally did manage to open the door, she was greeted by boxes. Dozens of them. Making her way to the living room, she found Patrick standing in front of their book case, taking out book after book, glancing at the title and either putting them back on the shelve or into a box marked 'Lisbon's books'.

She bit back a sob. Patrick was packing her stuff, ready for her to move out. Well, what had she expected? That he would have been waiting for her with champagne on ice? She might still have believed there was a way out, but he seemingly didn't agree with her.

What if he was happy to get rid of her?

Her sound made him look up. The mask was firmly in place again, she noticed. God, why was it so much harder to deal with than his anger, his open hostility? He acknowledged her presence with a nod and a question.

"This novel yours? I can't remember."

Without looking at the book he was showing her, she shrugged. What did she care? He put in it the box.

"Yours then."

A knife in her belly. Ouch.

"Patrick?"

"Could you hand me a new box? This one's almost full."

Twisting the knife. Double ouch.

"Patrick?"

"Oh…and the tape, please."

Was she still breathing?

"Patrick, can we talk? Please?"

She must have sounded as desperate as she was, because he actually looked up.

"Fine. Let's talk." He sat down on the couch, while she remained standing.

He was not about to make it easy on her and she didn't deserve anything else. She only hoped, prayed, her gesture wouldn't be too late.

"I eh…I have something for you." She started.

"A parting gift? Lisbon, really, you shouldn't have," he sneered.

"Would you please look at it first, before judging it?"

Don't do as I did to you…please give me the benefit of the doubt…

She handed him the first envelope and he opened it, his face still impassive. A mass of shredded paper fell into his lap.

"You shredded our wedding papers?"

Oh no…no, just understand, you idiot! To make him see, she gave him the other envelope as well. He tore it open to reveal…

"These are the wedding papers."

"The intact, still legal wedding papers," she added.

"Then these are…" He gestured to the heap in his lap.

"What's left of the annulment papers. They were never filed. Nobody even knows they were drawn up. Like they never existed."

"But…why?"

She smiled at him and finally, as the truth hit him, he smiled back. His true, glorious, wonderful, bone-melting smile.

"I want to stop pretending too," she whispered.

Patrick stood, letting the pieces of shredded document fall on the carpet, with one step, he had reached her. His hand brushed along her jaw line and pulled her head in closer.

It was their first kiss since the mandatory kiss when they were being pronounced husband and wife. It lasted for many minutes, but it hardly lasted long enough to even start making up for the damage she had done to their relationship. But she figured she would have years to do that.

"So…you really want to be my wife?" He asked, for some reason needing to hear her say it out loud.

"Yes, I do…I love you Patrick Jane. And I love being married to you."

"On one condition."

"What's that?" Anything, he could have anything he wanted.

"I want to do it again."

"Do what again?"

"Marry you again. Renew our vows. For real this time. I want to see you in a white wedding gown. I want guests and a cake and flowers and a proper party. I want the world to know that we meant it. That I love you. We deserve a fresh new start, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do."

"Save those words for the judge, my darling wife." He kissed her soundly, before thinking of something and pulling away.

"What?"

"Are you gonna make me wait until our next wedding to consummate?"

THE END.

_Epilogue…_

Like hell she was…

AN: Sorry 'bout that. Couldn't help myself. Again, a happy New Year to all of you!!!


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